The Baron's Betrayal Read online

  “Marion.” He fought with himself to keep his tone even, not wanting to show the emotions flooding him at just having her near. “I have already determined that this marriage will not continue. Please don’t make it hard on both of us by continuing in this folly.”

  “I disagree. Our marriage is not a folly, and I intend to remain your wife. Now if you do not wish to acknowledge that situation, then we are at a stalemate.”

  “A stalemate, indeed.” He pounded his thigh with his fist. “I demand you return to your home.”

  “This is my home, my lord,” she countered.

  Tristan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I refuse to have Mason remove you.”

  “I thank you so very much for your generosity, my lord.”

  “But this game you’re playing will not end well.”

  “I am not playing a game. I am your wife. And it is my concern as to how it will end. Right now I shall retire to the room Mrs. Downs has prepared for me, and see about having a maid assist me to unpack.”

  “Where is your lady’s maid? We have none here.”

  “At Manchester Manor I shared a lady’s maid with my sisters. So, I shall need to hire one. For now I can make do by myself.”

  “Perhaps there are no funds to hire another maid.”

  “Are there not?”

  He could hear her breathing and sense her presence, but he remained stubbornly silent. After a few minutes, soft footsteps padded across the room, then he released the breath he held at the sound of the door opening.

  “Shall I have my bags remain packed if we are to leave for London in the morning?”

  “There is no reason to remove ourselves to London if you are coming with us.”

  “Oh, so you were trying to escape me?” He could hear the mirth in her voice.

  When he didn’t answer, she added, “It won’t work, Tristan. I am here to stay. Here, or there, it matters not.” The door latch clicked, leaving him in silent contemplation.

  How the devil would he hold her off if she resided in the same house with him? Ate meals at his table, slept in a bed under his roof?

  His groin tightened at this last. He’d not had the comfort of a woman’s body since he’d left Marion to return to the sea. Despite his desire to end their marriage, he’d had no intention of ignoring his wedding vows. Indeed, no intention of ever affording himself the luxury of the warmth and pleasure found in a woman’s arms.

  Even if he did desire such, no other woman would satisfy him as well as his wife. Their lovemaking had always been something magical, spiritual, if you will. The joining of two hearts and two souls.

  But that had come to an end. He was a blind man, with nothing to offer a woman. That was to be his lot in life, and his wife attempting to change that was useless. Furthermore, he could not let her try.

  …

  Marion went in search of Mrs. Downs. Before she was able to locate the housekeeper, a young maid of about nineteen years descended the stairs.

  “My lady, if you will follow me, I will direct you to the room prepared for you.”

  Marion followed her up the stairs and down a narrow corridor. They entered a room that could only be described as perfect. Cream and pale rose striped wallpaper brought out the warmth of the space. Her feet sunk into the thick carpet as she took in the generous windows allowing the pale sunlight to illuminate the area. A brightly burning fireplace in one corner added to the comfort. Her spirits rose.

  “And where is his lordship’s room?” Marion asked as she surveyed her new quarters.

  “Why, right next to this room, my lady. Through there.” The girl nodded in the direction of a carved oak door. “This room is where Mrs. Downs insisted we put your things.” Completing a quick bob, she added, “May I assist you with your unpacking, my lady?”

  “Do you have other duties to see to right now?”

  “No. Mrs. Downs asked me to help until she can hire a lady’s maid for you.”

  Apparently the staff already knew she intended to be a permanent resident. Interesting, that the plans to relocate to London seemed to have been halted by the staff without word from Tristan. Perhaps that was Mrs. Gibbons’s doing. “Well, thank you very much. And what is your name?”

  “Jane, my lady. My mum’s Mrs. Downs.”

  “Well, perhaps you can be my lady’s maid.” She liked the young girl, who was sweet and eager. Marion’s mother oftentimes raised girls from parlor maids to lady’s maids. The dowager duchess had also been known to educate some of their maids so they were able to secure positions as governesses.

  The young girl’s eyes grew wide in her freckled face. “Oh, no, my lady. I have no training to be a lady’s maid. My mum will be hiring someone for you.”

  “No. I think not. I would prefer that you fill the position.”

  She frowned. “My lady?”

  Marion smiled at the young girl’s confusion. “That means I would like you to be my lady’s maid.”

  The girl blushed furiously and cupped her cheeks with her palms. “Thank you, my lady. I will try my best.”

  “Good. Now run off and tell your mum that I have my lady’s maid, and then hurry back here so we can unpack.”

  Still quite red in the face, Jane hurried from the room.

  Marion hummed as she began to sort through the items in the trunks the footmen had lugged up to her room. Jane would work nicely as her maid. Marion felt no need for fancy, town hair dressings. Jane seemed a pleasant girl, and that meant more to her than experience.

  She eyed the door adjoining her room to Tristan’s. After minutes of glancing back and forth at it while she draped clothing over the bed, she threw down the gown she held and strode across the room. Very carefully, she released the latch and eased the door open. Tears sprang to her eyes as the essence of her husband wafted over her. The familiar scent of his soap, his cologne, and his body, made her heart thump and her knees weak.

  How she’d missed him! She came to stand beside his bed, gazing at the place where he rested his body. Where she intended to rest her body as well. With his stubbornness, it would probably not be any time soon. But she, too, could be stubborn. He was all she had ever wanted her entire life, and something as minor as blindness was not going to take him from her. She would fight the blindness and fight him. In the end she would prevail.

  She dragged her fingers over his wardrobe and dresser. Smiled at his shaving things and hairbrush lined up perfectly next to the wash basin. He had a wonderful view from his window, a view he would never see. For the first time since she’d received the news from her brother, she wondered what it would be like to suddenly lose her eyesight. She shuddered at the thought of never seeing another sunset or viewing summer flowers in full bloom.

  Most of all, the idea of never gazing on her beloved Tristan’s face again explained some of her husband’s anguish. She drifted closer to the window, her arms wrapped around her waist. More determined than ever, she would convince him their marriage could work.

  “Marion. What are you doing in my room?”

  She whirled around, amazed she hadn’t heard the door open or Tristan enter the room.

  “How did you know—”

  “That you are here? When you lose one of your senses, my dear, I’ve discovered that the others grow to compensate for the loss. I could smell your lovely scent as soon as I opened the door.”

  He moved farther into the room and headed directly toward her, almost as if his eyesight had miraculously returned. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but I was unpacking, and the door linking us drew me, so I—”

  “Decided to breach my privacy?”

  She shook her head. “No. I… Tristan, can’t we at least be friends?”

  “No.” He turned from her and sat on the edge of the bed. “I will not be your friend. I love you too much for that.” He held up his hand as she began to speak.
“Let me finish. It is because I love you as much as I do that I must set you free.”

  Marion dropped to her knees and gripped his hands. “No, please. I don’t want to be set free. Can’t you understand?”

  He reached out as if to smooth her hair, then drew his hand back. “You must reconcile yourself to my decision. I will not change my mind.”

  She laid her forehead on his knee. “And I will not change mine, Tristan. I will fight you on this.”

  “My lady?” Marion started at Jane’s greeting from the other side of the door.

  She rose and headed to her room. “I must go, but please be assured I will be joining you for dinner.”

  …

  Two days later, determined to free his mind from the constant thoughts of Marion, Tristan was helped into his tailcoat by his valet, Ellis, then he headed downstairs and out the back door to enjoy a morning stroll in the garden.

  He breathed deeply of the cool, crisp air. Times like this he could be at peace with himself. Perhaps not reconciled, but at least accepting of his blindness. That is, until Marion had invaded his home and took over his life. Now all the initial panic, frustration, and anger that had accompanied his early recovery had resurfaced.

  How he wished to throw caution to the wind and take his wife to bed. Even if he were to do something so foolish, the possible result of their joining had him breaking into a sweat. By what means could he ever protect those he loved? Initially, a baby needed love and devotion from his parents, but as he grew, security was paramount. A child would never feel secure with a father who couldn’t see.

  The strong scent of apples reached him, alerting him that he neared the orchard. He waved his cane to find the turn in the path that would direct him to the pond at the rear of his property. As he continued on, he tilted his head, raising his face to enjoy the warmth from the early autumn sun.

  He smiled at how his instructions to prepare for a journey to his London house had been blithely ignored once Marion had wrestled command from Mrs. Gibbons. He wondered briefly what Lorelei would make of that. Although she had started them down this path with her interference, hadn’t she?

  Within minutes he discerned the lap of water and the smell of mud and fresh grass that grew around the pond. He frowned when the scent of rosemary and chamomile infused itself. “Marion?”

  “Yes, Tristan. I am here by the water’s edge.”

  “I thought you and Mrs. Downs were busy with household matters.”

  “We finished. I thought to take a stroll before luncheon since the weather is nice and clear.”

  He moved closer to her. “Tell me what you see. I bought this property only recently. However, I thought it was far away in the country, not in Donridge Heath.”

  She slipped her arm through his. “The area is quite lovely. The pond is about the size of the one at the Manor that you and I used to swim in. Do you remember that?”

  He nodded, the warmth of those memories rushing through him. Pictures flashed of a young Marion looking at him with adoration as he held her firmly in the water, encouraging her to float. Pushing them aside, he asked, “Is there a folly?”

  “Yes, there is a lovely one. It’s quite large, actually. We would have to proceed around the pond to go there. Did you want to walk that way?”

  “Not today. Tell me about the trees. Are the leaves beginning to change their color? Are there many surrounding the pond?”

  For the next few minutes, Marion described what he could only hear and smell. She laughed when she detailed squirrels hurrying past them, up into hiding places in the trees to stash their winter stores.

  The sound of her voice and the sweet laughter should have put him off. After all, she was here against his wishes. But instead, he found himself grinning as she related such a complete description that he could see the entire area in his mind, as if an artist’s brush had created it for him alone.

  He picked up the aroma of nearby smoke. His initial jolt of panic at the scent receded when Marion mentioned his gardener was burning leaves on the other side of the apple orchard. Had she mentioned that because of his anxiety? Not only was he blind, but after his family’s death and his experience on the ship, his fear of fire crippled him.

  “My dear, I believe we should return to the house for luncheon. Cook is put out if her wonderful meals have to be held.”

  “She is a delight, Tristan.” Marion turned him and they strolled together toward the house. “And did you know Mrs. Downs has a lovely daughter, Jane, whom I have hired for my lady’s maid?”

  “Indeed? And who authorized the hiring of maids?”

  “I did. I am your wife, and here to stay. The staff knows it, and you must accustom yourself to the idea.”

  His lips twitched. “When did you become a termagant, madam?”

  “It became necessary when my husband decided, without my consent, to dissolve our marriage.”

  “Despite this lively exchange, I have not changed my mind.”

  “Neither have I, my lord.”

  He felt the sun dip behind a cloud, warning him that his life was as it would always be. Whenever he grew carefree and happy, the reality of his situation reminded him, somewhat abruptly at times, that his would never be a normal life.

  “Oh, look! There are crocus over there.” Marion left his side to the sound of her feet sweeping through underbrush. “They are so lovely.”

  Tristan turned to the sound of her voice, momentarily losing his balance on the uneven flagstones. He attempted to correct himself, but was unable to regain his balance. Reaching out for support, his arms waved helplessly as he crashed to the ground, falling on his cane and breaking it.

  “Tristan!” Marion screeched and hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”

  Humiliated and in pain where his leg twisted under him, he shoved her away. “Leave me be.”

  “But you’ve hurt yourself. Let me help you up.”

  “Get away from me. Now!” The roar that bellowed from him stopped Marion’s movements.

  With a broken cane, there was no way he would be able to make it back to the house without her help. If nothing else had served to convince him of the untenable reality of his situation, this certainly had. He was so much less a man than the one she’d married. He wished for nothing more at the moment than to be left alone so he could lick his wounds like the animal he had become. A blind, wounded, snarling animal.

  “Tristan, please. You are being ridiculous. Allow me to help you. This was not your fault. I can see where the stones in the pathway are seriously uneven. We must have the gardener see to this immediately.”

  “Stop saying see. Please. Just stop.” He struggled to his feet and brushed off his jacket. “If you will assist me to the house, madam, I would be deeply thankful.”

  They proceeded down the pathway, leaving behind the broken cane, the pleasure of the day gone. His leg throbbed from where he had fallen, but he’d be dammed if he would mention it. He deserved the pain. He deserved to be locked away. “His lordship has taken a spill, Mason. Can you please see to him?” Marion flinched when he yanked his arm away from her shortly after they entered the front hall.

  “I am fine. There is nothing to concern anyone.” Taking a deep breath, he reached for the stone urn where several other canes were stored.

  “Do you wish to wash up before we take luncheon?” Marion asked gently, keeping her distance.

  “Please inform Cook that I would prefer a tray in my room.”

  “But Tristan—”

  “Please, Marion. No arguments.” He reached for the banister and slowly climbed the stairs, relishing the pain that radiated from his leg up to his heart. That was a pain that would never go away.

  Chapter Five

  Despite her best efforts, Marion was unable to persuade Tristan to join her for dinner the night of his fall in the garden, or breakfast the next morning. He’d taken trays in his room.

  Sulking, she thought, just like a child. She left the breakfast roo
m and approached Biddle, one of the footmen. “Will you please ask Mrs. Gibbons to join me in my sitting room?”

  She added coal to the fire while waiting for Tristan’s companion. Since she’d been in residence, Mrs. Gibbons had not joined them for meals. When she’d asked Tristan about the woman’s absence, he said since Marion had arrived she felt more comfortable eating with the staff. When she expressed dismay at the woman’s decision, Tristan was quick to assure her that Mrs. Gibbons was quite happy with the arrangement, and did not feel the least bit put out. Picking up her needlework, Marion settled in the chair close to the fire. Within minutes there was a knock on the door. “Enter.”

  “Good morning, my lady. Biddle said you wished to speak with me?”

  “Yes. Please, have a seat. Come close to the fire where it’s warmer. I find that in the country even these early autumn days can create a chill.”

  Once Mrs. Gibbons was seated, Marion placed her sewing in the basket by her feet and turned her attention to the companion. “Please tell me a little bit about your time with my husband the past two years. How you came to know him.”

  For several minutes, Mrs. Gibbons related the story of her initial meeting with Tristan, how he had seemed grateful to be alive but, after a while, had slipped into melancholy. Marion watched her for signs of something more than the care a companion would feel for her charge. Although Mrs. Gibbons was most likely somewhere in her late thirties, more than ten years older than Tristan, she was an attractive woman in an ordinary sort of way. But she left no doubt that her intentions were nothing more than friendship.

  “I was disheartened when he told me he had a wife and had no intention of contacting her.” Mrs. Gibbons leaned forward, looking directly into her eyes. “Please do not be upset by his attitude. He has had a very difficult time adjusting to his blindness. He somehow feels he is not a complete man, and it has hampered how he views himself. I know he loves you. Very much. You mustn’t give up on him. He deserves love.”

  “Oh, I have no intention of giving up on him. You see, Mrs. Gibbons, I know my husband is stubborn, but what he has not counted on is that I am just as stubborn as he is. As I told you once before, I will remain here, or wherever he plans to be, despite his objections.”